


Tick

by Oky_Verlo



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Really random
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 17:58:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11318661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oky_Verlo/pseuds/Oky_Verlo
Summary: I came up with this years ago, it's been on my DA page since twenty-thirteen.





	Tick

**Author's Note:**

> I came up with this years ago, it's been on my DA page since twenty-thirteen.

_Tick. Tick.  
  
_ It’s the sound that wakes you up. It’s not overly obtrusive; it’s not loud, disparaging or weighty.  
It’s just there.  
  
 _Tick. Tick.  
Tick. Tick._  
  
You try to wait it out, but the sound just continues. On and on until you fling your arm from the bed trying to knock away the clock to stop the noise. You hit the clock and it plummets to the floor, bouncing away to land under the dresser, the cord managing a strained twang as it’s pulled from the socket.  
  
 _Tick. Tick._  
  
You blink your eyes open. You’ve a digital clock. You heard the plug just now.  
  
 _Tick. Tick._  
  
Forcing your body to rise from the warm covers of your bed, you look around the room, trying to identify where the sound is coming from.  
  
 _Tick. Tick._  
  
Nothing strikes you as odd in your room; the dresser, desk bed and miscellaneous items are all still in place as they had been the night previous. There's nothing missing or obviously moved. Whatever is making that sound?  
  
 _Tick. Tick._  
  
It’s starting to get aggravating now, mainly because you can’t find where it’s coming from, and as you focus on trying to find it, it just seems to get louder and louder, until it becomes all you can hear. You curse softly to yourself, thinking of which of your friends would pull a stunt such as this.  
  
 _Tick. Tick._  
  
You search your entire home, but can’t find a single thing; the clock in the kitchen hasn’t had a battery in months, the second hand still on its forty-sixth stroke; the needle on the metronome has been broken since that fight with your cousin when you threw the piece; there are no leaking taps or pipes that you can find, and you recently had pest control around to get rid of any ‘visitors’ that tap about.  
  
 _Tick. Tick._  
  
Again the noise seems to gain volume. Taking a deep breath you move back to the kitchen to get something to eat; you’ve just woken up and are not truly ‘there’. Once you’ve eaten and settled, surely you’ll find the problem in a snap, you tell yourself.  
  
 _Tick. Tick._  
  
There’s not much in the fridge; you need to remember to go shopping once you get paid. You salvage a box of left-over take-away and reheat it in the microwave while you try to pull your thoughts into order.  
  
 _Tick. Tick._  
  
The small ding tells you to get your food or nuke it again. Taking out the food, you force the week-old noodles and broth down your throat, choking a bit when the stray scrap of meat appears.  
  
 _Tick. Tick._  
  
You still don’t know where the noise is coming from. Again as you focus on it, the noise just gets louder. As you search the house again, this time with a clearer and more coherent mind, you feel a deathly chill; you almost hear an echo.  
  
 _Tick. Tick._  
  
The speed remains the same, but that echo. The echo is haunting; connecting the sounds in a way that makes one run off the other immediately.  
  
 _Tick. Tick._  
  
It grows louder still.  
  
 _Tick. Tick._  
  
This is really starting to get to you; you have searched the house twice now, a third time will do you no good. Still the sound grows louder, that recurring echo seeming to thrum within your very head, punctuated by the original.  
  
 _Tick. Tick._  
  
You can actually feel it now. You don’t know what is going on, how it happened or why but it’s inside you. Every single pulse dances through your head, beating against your brain and you struggle to keep your eyes open against the flashes of pain.  
  
 _Tick. Tick._  
  
Your eyes dash around, searching desperately for whatever is causing you this agony, but alas, you find nothing. There is nothing that makes that sound.  
  
 _Tick. Tick._  
  
By chance your eyes fall to the window. It’s raining, a few flashes of lightning sparking through the sky. Well rain isn’t really the word. Flooding fits much better.   
  
_Tick. Tick._  
  
A sudden crash of thunder manages to break through your thoughts. For a brief moment, the sound stopped. A smile comes to your face and you rush out the door, barely remembering to close it behind you.  
  
 _Tick. Tick._  
  
Once you are out in the glory of nature you start running. The pounding rain and deafening thunder are your markers of freedom. You decide to spend some time outside; maybe visit a friend if they’ll allow you in, given your current soaked status.   
  
Truly flooding doesn’t do the weather justice; this is a torrential downpour and at the moment a blessing, for though the moment you left the house you were soaked to the bone and chilled to your soul, you are much calmer now. You begin to slow and catch your breath, a smile curling your lips as you do.  
  
 _Tick. Tick._  
  
No.  
Please no.  
  
 _Tick. Tick._  
  
You fall to your knees as even the might of Mother Nature is drowned out beneath that sound. Though it hasn’t picked up speed, the volume is immense, and the echo no better. You can feel your eardrums pulse in anguish, and your head throbs from the torture.  
  
 _Tick. Tick._  
  
You curl into a ball, trying helplessly to stop the sound, desperately grasping at the dream that you can stop this.  
  
 _Tick. Tick._  
  
But it’s no use. It’s still there.  
  
 _Tick. Tick._  
  
It’s still hurting.  
  
 _Tick. Tick._  
  
It’s still coming from nowhere at all.  
  
 _Tick. Tick._  
  
You suddenly no longer feel the pelting of the rain, and for a second you fancy that maybe you are waking from some dream; some fiendish creation of your mind. As you look up, the notion carries for the rain has stopped.  
  
 _Tick. Tick._  
  
Make no mistake, the rain is still there, but it has stopped.  
You can see every single drop as it hangs midair.  
  
 _Tick. Tick._  
  
Looking to the sky, you can see a single arch of lightning frozen in time, the thousands of little sparks unmoving from the main body.  
  
 _Tick. Tick._  
  
You can even see a solitary bird, no doubt trying to return to its nest for shelter.  
  
 _Tick. Tick._  
  
But the noise continues, beating inside your head with no remorse.  
  
 _Tick. Tick._  
  
Once more you curl into yourself fleetingly praying that this misery will end.  
  
 _Tack. Tick. Tack. Tick._  
  
Your head shoots up. There’s something joining in with the sound.  
  
 _Tack. Tick. Tack. Tick._  
  
It’s much softer, barely there at all thanks to the unending noise, but the fact that you can hear it at all.  
  
 _Tack. Tick. Tack. Tick._  
  
You start searching your frozen surroundings; maybe there is something that will change this game around, something that will give you your peace.  
  
 _Tack. Tick. Tack. Tick._  
  
You can actually tell where it’s coming from and swiftly move to find it.  
 _Please,_ you beg for only yourself to hear, _please let me find you.  
  
Tack. Tick. Tack. Tick._  
  
It’s footsteps you realise, just as you lose your balance and fall to the ground. You struggle to bring yourself to your knees when you see... _them.  
  
Tack. Tick. Tack. Tick._  
  
They stop moving in front of you, and just stand there watching you. You can’t tell if it’s a man or woman, there not being enough light to tell, but the fact that they can move despite the world motionless around them, just as you can, gives rise to hope.  
  
They aren’t very tall, but neither are they short. The dark locks on their head and the pale skin is like nothing you have ever seen before. Focusing on their face, the strong cut of their jaw, the unblemished skin and the defined cheekbones are flawless and never have you seen such beauty. You have certainly never crossed paths with this person before.  
  
Until you meet their eyes.  
  
Such dark eyes. They seem almost empty, drawing you in and pleading for you to stay within their depths for forever and a day. And though you try to resist you cannot avert your gaze, for just as empty as those eyes are, they are piercing, searching your very soul in an instant, dragging everything that you are to the surface to be witnessed and judged.  
  
But this person doesn’t judge you.  
  
They take one step closer and gently reach out for you, their hand palm up for you to take.  
  
You haven’t seen anyone during your mad dash from the house, not surprising from the rain, but looking back on the last few days ... there hasn’t really been anyone around ... has there?  
  
 _“It’s time to go little one.”_  
  
That voice ... it is as though every voice you have ever heard has been mixed into one, slipping past the lips of this person before you.  
  
Man or woman doesn’t seem to matter just now. They are here during your hour of need and they know you.  
  
You have never crossed paths; of this you are certain. But they know you. They care for what makes you happy or sad. They love you. Slowly, tentatively, you begin to reach for them in turn.  
  
You feel safe in their presence; treasured almost. How can such a thing be?  
  
A flicker of doubt and fear flash through you at this thought. How can you be safe with a person you do not know? How can they know you as they seem to? Where are they going to take you?  
  
You look into their eyes, hoping for answers ... but all you see is love and acceptance.  
  
Your resolve fails; how can you remain defiant when such emotion is being shown to you; being directed to you?  
  
Your hand wavers just ever so slightly above theirs, unsure if this is the right choice to make when...  
  
You realise.  
  
A relieved smile claims your lips, the stranger smiling in kind as you finally grasp their hand, clutching onto the fingers emptier than sin, latching onto flesh colder then death. Smiling as this apparition dressed in black steals your very soul before returning the stream of time, the rain resuming its seemingly unending flow, as they disappear into the darkness.  
  
Smiling as you recognize that...  
  
You can’t hear the noise anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> Toodles and Love  
> Oky Verlo


End file.
